


consider the hairpin turn

by anarchetypal



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Assisted Facefucking, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, GTA Street Racing AU, M/M, Riding, Sex on a Car, Topping from the Bottom, Voyeurism, anyway lots of smut, gavin please stop hitting on people for ryan, handjobs, he can't do it for himself but stop embarrassing him, jeremy stop trying to make "rimmy tim" a thing it's never going to happen, that should be a tag already why isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-30 17:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10168358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: Gavin looks at Ryan curiously. “Of course Jeremy’s interested. Did you see the way he was looking at you?” When Ryan stares back, baffled, he smiles almost gently. “Bit like the way you were looking at him.”Ryan pauses. “He’s beautiful,” he admits.“God, absolutely. I want you both,” Gavin says, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is. Gavin always seems to get what he wants, and the people around him always seem to rush to give it to him with enthusiasm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for ryanthepowerbottomguy's birthday!
> 
> this takes place in the gta verse, but the crew's more focused on street-racing than heists. i've written another story in this universe (check my works), but this isn't part of a series!

Ryan has to defend the fact that he’s staring at another man in front of Gavin by pointing out that Jeremy is wearing what appears to be a luchador outfit, complete with mask, to a car race.

Gavin doesn’t seem bothered, unsurprisingly—they’re not entirely exclusive, Ryan hooking up with Geoff and Jack, and Gavin with Michael and who knows who else on a regular basis. And Gavin flirts as easily as he breathes (or the other way around, as it seems like sometimes), brings people into their bedroom on a bimonthly basis, and it’d surprised Ryan at first, but now it’s as normal as anything in their relationship.

For a given measure of ‘normal.’

But Ryan goes with it, because he’s never been able to disallow Gavin anything, and that’s—well, that’s probably going to get him killed one day, but for now he’ll take the fairweather bed partners and 2AM inner-city races.

It’s not like he’s not having fun.

Despite being from a different crew, Jeremy’s been bringing his cars to Ryan for repairs for a few months off and on, and he’s gotten to know him more or less, enjoys his company and his sunny disposition.

Enjoys less Gavin’s constant hints that Ryan should _Make a bloody move already_ , it’s not like Ryan doesn’t expect them. Whenever Ryan shows any interest in anybody, Gavin’s like a shark that’s found blood in the water, aggressively trying to get him laid as though he’s not tumbling into bed with Gavin several times a week.

Still, it’s the first time he’s seen Jeremy at a race, and he almost doesn’t recognize him in the ridiculous getup.

“Rimmy Tim.”

Ryan tears his gaze away from the masked guy to look at Gavin, bewildered. “What?”

“Rimmy Tim,” Gavin repeats. “That’s what he’s called during races.”

“What, really?”

Gavin snorts, rolling his eyes. “No. But he’s set on getting everyone to call him that. It’s cute.” Gavin gives Jeremy a thoughtful look.

Before Ryan has the chance to plead with Gavin not to proposition a guy who has a fucking alter ego for him, the woman organizing the race calls for participants to _get your asses in your cars and get to the starting line, okay, we only got a twenty minute window before the next patrol_.

The threat of cops gets everyone moving; Gavin reaches up behind Ryan’s head to grab at the base of his ponytail and use the grip to drag him down into a kiss that’s a little more enthusiastic than he’d normally appreciate in public. Someone catcalls, and he flushes.

“Wish me luck,” Gavin says primly, opening the door to his Banshee and hanging off it like a limp doll while he looks at Ryan with wide, expectant eyes.

“You don’t need it,” Ryan says truthfully, though when Gavin raises an eyebrow, he gives in. “Good luck,” he says, dutiful as ever.

“I don’t need it,” Gavin responds, flippant, and Ryan shakes his head with a smile as he watches Gavin throw himself into the car and start it up. He makes his way around to the starting line with the other spectators, taking in the participants and their rides.

He and Gavin worked their asses off on the Banshee over the past week, getting started shortly after Geoff told them he wanted Gavin in this race.

Ryan mostly plays mechanic for the crew, running the occasional dirt-road race when they happen (growing up in Georgia racing on farmland makes riding on dirt child’s play now) and spending the rest of his time spectating and in the huge garage Geoff set up for him.

He misses his old garage sometimes, but at least this one has the space he needs, and, like, air conditioning, so he’s definitely not complaining.

The cars are lined up, engines humming and revving occasionally like rumbles of predatory animals. He catches Gavin’s eye from a ways off and sees him wink, rolls his eyes in response.

Jeremy is at the far end of the lineup in an X80 Proto. It’s a good-looking car—the whole lineup is nice—but Ryan’s not worried. Where he’d focused on the mechanical aspects of Gavin’s ride, Gavin’s got their secret weapon.

NOS canisters are pretty commonplace in most races nowadays, but Gavin, for all his moments of idiocy (faked or otherwise), knows how to turn NOS into a goddamn work of art. Gavin’s nitrous system works better and for longer, giving him bursts of speed that, when he times them correctly, are unrivaled.

So Ryan’s not worried.

A young man stands at the starting line with a colorful handkerchief raised. The revving gets louder and louder, until Ryan can barely hear the crowd around him.

And then the handkerchief drops.

Ryan lives for this—the smell of hot metal in the air, the sound of tires on pavement, remnants of engine oil slick on his fingers. The cars disappear in moments around their first turn. Gavin’s several cars behind first position, but Ryan knows his style, knows he likes to get that last-second lead because he’s a beautiful fucking showoff.

It’s a waiting game from there, Ryan on tenterhooks as he listens out for approaching cars, screaming engines. The end of the race is about a half-mile of straight road, which makes it exciting, could make it anybody’s game.

He sees the Proto first, Gavin’s Banshee rounding the corner a split-second behind it, a Pegassi with a driver Ryan doesn’t recognize coming in after.

Gavin likes risk, likes adrenaline, so Ryan’s not surprised that he waits until the last possible moment to engage his NOS. The Banshee lurches forward, pushing past Jeremy’s car easily and gaining plenty of ground, and Ryan can’t keep the smile off his face.

Gavin blows past the finish line, a solid few seconds passing before the Proto slides in after him, its frame shuddering, and only then does Ryan’s smile slip.

It’s a miracle Jeremy managed to get to the finish. Ryan picks his way through the crowd, looking at the car in concern.

It’s a general rule of thumb that you don’t drive on a flat tire; it’s one of the easiest ways to get yourself a bent axle. But races bring out the desperation in people, the single-mindedness of reaching the finish line, come hell or high water. The Proto’s got a blown front tire, and if the way it skids off to the side as Jeremy brakes is any indication, his front axle isn’t looking great, either.

As much as Ryan’s inner mechanic is cringing, he can’t help but be impressed Jeremy crossed the finish line at all, let alone in second place.

He reaches the Banshee, nearly gets bowled over when the door swings open and Gavin crashes into him, his smile a million watts. “Did you bloody _see_ that,” he demands, laughing, kissing Ryan’s face.

“Wasn’t watching,” Ryan says, chuckles when Gavin tugs hard on his ponytail. He can’t help but be caught up in the adrenaline, in the win, in the knowledge that they’re pulling in a pretty good take from this. “I think you’ve perfected the NOS, Gav, seriously. That was incredible.”

“Nearly,” Gavin says, never completely satisfied with his projects. “I’ve got a couple kinks to work out still. Dunno if I’d have won if Jeremy hadn’t blown a tire.”

“I’m impressed he did so well.” He pauses. “Wait, Jeremy? Thought he was Rimmy Tim right now.”

“I said he _wants_ people to call him that.”

He turns to look at the Proto, and Jeremy climbs out of it. He reaches up to grab the mask and tug it off, and Ryan—

Okay, Ryan might be staring.

Jeremy’s dyed his hair since the last time Ryan saw him, the top of it a shock of bright green, matted down slightly with sweat, and despite the fact that he’d blown a tire, he’s smiling, breathing hard with what’s probably excess adrenaline. He shakes the sweat from his hair and leans against the car as he shuts his eyes.

Ryan might be staring a lot.

Gavin smirks at him in a way that immediately makes him concerned. “Don’t,” he says, not even sure what Gavin’s planning to do.

And then, “Oi, Jeremy!” Gavin calls out, and Ryan has to resist the urge to tackle Gavin to shut him up.

Jeremy opens his eyes and turns towards them. “Gavin,” he complains, “I told you, it’s—”

“Rimming Tim, yeah, whatever,” Gavin says, waving a hand dismissively.

“ _Rimmy_ Tim.”

“ _Gavin_ ,” Ryan hisses lowly.

“C’mere,” Gavin says, waving him over.

“ _No_ ,” Ryan says.

“Ryan wants to say hi.”

“ _I will kill you and no one will find your body_ — Hi,” Ryan says weakly as Jeremy walks up to them.

Jeremy lights up. “Hey!” he says, reaching out to clap Ryan on the shoulder. “Gavin said you’d be coming out to the race tonight.”

“He did?” Ryan looks at Gavin suspiciously. “So you two know each other?”

It’s hard to tell with Jeremy’s face still red from the heat of the mask, but it looks like he flushes. Gavin grins at him almost lecherously.

Ah.

“We were just talking about you,” Gavin tells Jeremy, leaning against Ryan, looking every bit like the cat that’s caught the canary—like the cat that’s caught _two_ canaries, and now he’s forcing the canaries to talk to each other. “And how it looks like your front axle’s buggered.”

Jeremy pulls a face, rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. That asshole in the Pegassi forced me up against a curb and the tire blew. Shouldn’t have ridden on it. I’m gonna have to get it towed.” He looks up at Ryan, expression painfully earnest. “You think you can fix it up for me?”

Ryan’s not really sure what possesses him to say, “I’ll give you a discount.”

Jeremy blinks in surprise. “Whoa, really?”

“On the house, even,” Gavin says, “if you’re interested in trading in certain services,” and then he’s doubled over, squeaking, after Ryan elbows him solidly.

“A discount,” he repeats loudly, struggling in vain to look less embarrassed. “Get your ride towed to the garage and I’ll take a look at it in the morning.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jeremy says, and it’s not fair how genuine he sounds. It’s not often Ryan gets so flustered with someone. He’s pretty sure the last time he acted like this was with, well, Gavin.

Who has managed to get his bearings and smile, beatific, at Jeremy. “Wonderful. It’s a date.”

“Business transaction,” Ryan says.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.”

“ _Stop talking_.”

Jeremy’s laughing. At least he seems accustomed to Gavin’s antics. “Thanks again,” he tells Ryan, and turns to Gavin. “Dude, great job out there. That’s not normal NOS, is it?”

Gavin smiles like he’s holding a secret in his mouth. “Cheers, Lil’ J,” he says, and he takes Ryan by the arm and starts pulling him back to the Banshee, Jeremy’s call of _It’s Rimmy Tim!_ following them.

——

Ryan’s not surprised when Gavin presses against him the second they get through the door of his apartment, the kiss he plants on Ryan biting and needy. They’re all adrenaline junkies, the whole crew, and a good race is as much an aphrodisiac as anything, so when he reaches down and finds Gavin half hard already, he just chuckles, doing his best to herd Gavin in the direction of the bedroom before Gavin can convince him they should fuck against the wall. Again.

He _is_ surprised Gavin doesn’t pester him about Jeremy, because as often as Gavin drops hints, flirting with someone _for_ Ryan, that’s new. Maybe it’s because Gavin and Jeremy have clearly gotten together before.

He allows himself the brief fantasy of the three of them in a bed together, sweat-slick bodies sliding against his own, tearing at clothes and kissing open-mouthed at every inch of exposed skin—

“For god’s sake, Ryan, c’mon,” Gavin says, breaking through Ryan’s thoughts and dragging him back to reality—a pretty great reality, with Gavin shimmying out of his stupidly tight jeans and his underwear and falling backwards onto the bed, legs spreading like an invitation.

Ryan takes it as one, pulling his own shirt off over his head before kneeling over Gavin on the bed to help him with his. Gavin’s hair, stiff with gel, sticks out in every direction by the time Ryan rips at his button-down, yanks off his undershirt, and pushes him without preamble down flat on the bed.

They tend to start like this, Ryan giving Gavin what he needs, rough handling and quick foreplay, wringing the adrenaline out of his system as Ryan fingers him with just shy of enough lube and care until Gavin’s writhing beneath him, cock hard against his stomach. He lets Ryan smack his hand away every time he goes to stroke himself off, like it’s a game of denial, of patience.

But Gavin’s patience doesn’t last very long.

So they tend to end like this, Gavin giving Ryan what _he_ needs, flipping their positions like it’s child’s play, Ryan going where he’s pushed without struggle. Gavin watches him fumble to get his jeans and boxers off without getting off the bed, snorting as his legs flail, and then crawls over him, straddles his hips.

Ryan hasn’t touched himself yet, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t get hard making Gavin feel good. Gavin’s hand is slick already—gathered excess lube that had spread to his inner thighs, maybe, and the thought makes Ryan’s cock twitch—and Ryan hisses, back arching a little, when Gavin finally takes him in hand.

His fingers barely alight on Gavin’s hips before Gavin’s _tsk_ ing, saying, “Hands,” and Ryan reluctantly reaches up to grab the slats of the headboard. Gavin won’t keep him this way the whole time, but it looks like tonight’s one of those times Gavin wants to take things slow, to _watch_ , and Ryan shivers in anticipation.

Gavin toys with him for so long Ryan thinks he might break, edges him over and over until he’s on the verge of tears, grabbing at the headboard so hard the wood creaks ominously. He turns his head to the side and tucks his face into his inner elbow and pants through it.

He’s right at the cusp again when Gavin pulls away, and Ryan _snarls_ , letting go of the headboard, but Gavin sways back out of the way before Ryan can grab him.

“Easy, love.”

“ _Come here_.”

Gavin seems pleased, like he’s been waiting for this, for Ryan’s desperation to reach its apex and shatter. He slides up Ryan’s body, leaning down to kiss him. Ryan bites at him hungrily, reaches down underneath Gavin, fingers catching at his rim and then sinking in. He’s less open than he was before, but they both appreciate it when it’s a tight fuck, when Gavin will feel it in the morning.

Ryan’s still on his back, panting, sprawled out on Gavin’s expensive sheets like a goddamn concubine, when Gavin sinks down onto his cock. The tight heat of him is almost too much; Ryan throws his head back and grabs at the sheets, then at Gavin’s hips, but doesn’t dare move him.

This is Gavin’s show, after all.

Once Gavin takes a moment to adjust, he grinds down on Ryan’s dick, laughing breathlessly when Ryan gasps, eyes fluttering shut, and then finally, finally, starts to ride him. It’s worth the torture a dozen times over. Ryan falls into the rhythm of it, lets himself be used like a toy, and if he gets off all the harder on that, no one outside the bedroom needs to know.

He’s not expecting Gavin to stop.

He opens his eyes. At this point, Gavin usually rides him until they both come, one of them usually shuddering with oversensitivity, but now Gavin’s just sitting on his cock and looking down at him thoughtfully.

“Um,” Ryan croaks. “Something wrong?”

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, and, ah, there it is. Ryan knew it’d be coming, just didn’t know it would be before _he_ was coming.

“Can this wait?” Ryan pleads.

“You should shag him,” Gavin says, as though Ryan hadn’t spoken.

Ryan stares. Usually Gavin’s less blunt than that. “What.”

“He’s shy,” Gavin says, like that explains anything. “Well, not as shy as _you_ , of course—”

“Excuse me?”

“—but he’s more likely to say yes to a threesome if we’ve both slept with him individually first. Less intimidating that way.”

Well, his brief fantasy now has precedent. Still: “Are you really talking about me fucking someone else while I’m fucking you?”

Gavin finally regards him, grinning sharply. “I’m talking about _both_ of us fucking someone else while _I’m_ clearly fucking _you_ ,” he says, and he grinds down on Ryan’s dick again, hips making little circles, to punctuate the statement. Ryan lets out a strangled sound, rocking up automatically until Gavin holds his hips down and he’s left making desperate, aborted little thrusts while Gavin laughs.

“Okay,” Ryan gasps out. “Okay, fine, I’ll try to see if he’s interested.”

Gavin looks at him curiously. “Of course he’s interested. Did you see the way he was looking at you?” When Ryan stares back, baffled, he smiles almost gently. “Bit like the way you were looking at him.”

Ryan pauses. “He’s beautiful,” he admits.

“God, absolutely. I want you both,” Gavin says, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is. Gavin always seems to get what he wants, and the people around him always seem to rush to give it to him with enthusiasm.

“You know I’m not great at flirting.”

Gavin grins. “I know. ‘S why I told him the other day that he should make a move. I’m not saying he’s going to jump you when he brings you his car to repair, but…”

“You’re fucking incorrigible.”

Gavin coos. “I’m surprised you got that word out in one try when you’re so close to coming.”

Ryan growls and takes Gavin by the hips, grip bruising, and fucks up into him, making Gavin yelp and then moan brokenly.

They don’t talk about much of anything after that.

——

Jeremy’s car gets towed to the garage around mid-afternoon while Ryan’s sorting through a box of scraps and busted parts for an extra valve.

He’s been in the garage since early that morning, slipping out of Gavin’s bed and laughing at Gavin’s half-asleep grumble at being jostled even slightly. He likes to work in the early mornings, the city quiet around him, radio playing static and whatever station he can tune into as he wakes up with whatever overpriced cup of coffee he happens to grab on the way over.

He’s not as organized as he’d like to be, has to go searching for parts every time he needs one and never has the right tool on hand and leaves empty Diet Coke cans on every horizontal surface, but he gets the job done, and nobody he’s ever done a repair for has ever cared about more than that.

“Hey!” Jeremy walks into the garage just as Ryan slices his index finger open on a small, jagged piece of sheet metal.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Ryan hisses, yanking his hand back.

“Nope, just me,” Jeremy says cheerfully, though his eyes widen when Ryan turns around, blood welling up from the cut. “Oh, shit.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says reassuringly, even though, sweet _fuck_ , it doesn’t exactly feel like a warm summer’s day. He spins around a couple times, looking desperately for a rag that isn’t filthy to wrap it in. No luck. Looks down at his shirt. Also pretty filthy.

Ryan ends up sticking his finger in his mouth, which—yeah. Stupid. Also gross. Jeremy stares at him incredulously, then snorts when he immediately cringes at the combination of blood and oil in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Ryan says, muffled, heading over to the other side of the garage to try to locate the first aid kit Jack had insisted on giving him to keep in the garage what feels like a lifetime ago. He manages to unearth it, fumbles with opening the clasps, and sends the contents spilling out onto the floor of the garage. Fantastic.

“Let me help you,” Jeremy says, moving in his direction.

“I got it,” Ryan says, waving him off.

“Seriously, I can help—”

“I don’t need help,” Ryan says stubbornly.

Jeremy doesn’t argue, just raises an eyebrow and leans with his arms crossed against one of the cars Ryan’s working on.

Ryan spends a solid two minutes struggling to secure a butterfly bandage around the cut with only his left hand, hyperaware of the way Jeremy is watching him. Finally, he lets out an annoyed huff and turns to look at Jeremy pathetically.

“You need something?” Jeremy asks, innocent as anything.

Ryan mutters under his breath in response.

“Sorry,” Jeremy says, starting to grin, and fuck him for having so much fun at Ryan’s expense. “What? Didn’t catch that, Ry.”

“Help,” Ryan says louder, aware that he’s sulking but not quite able to stop.

Jeremy laughs, pushing off the car and closing the distance between them to where Ryan’s learning against a worktable. “No problem. You’re giving me an axle repair on the house; this is the least I can do.”

“I said I’d give you a discount,” Ryan replies, and then Jeremy’s plucking the bandage from his good hand and applying some sort of antiseptic gel onto it before taking Ryan’s other hand gently between his own.

“Gavin said it’d be on the house,” Jeremy says, inspecting the cut.

Ryan snorts. “Yeah, no, Gavin was joking.”

“He was?”

“He implied you’d need to trade—” Ryan cuts himself off, flushing. “Um.”

Jeremy doesn’t respond for a moment, focused on wrapping the bandage carefully around Ryan’s finger. Ryan tries not to think about how he’s pretty sure Jeremy’s never been this close to him before, or the way the heat of Jeremy’s hands radiates into his own, or how he can practically count Jeremy’s eyelashes right now—

Jeremy smooths the bandage down and finally looks up at him. “I know,” he says.

Ryan blinks. “What?” he says blankly. _Smooth, Haywood_.

“I know what _services_ Gavin was implying.”

Ryan wonders if he’s imagining the heat in Jeremy’s tone, and then Jeremy runs the rough pad of his thumb from Ryan’s hand slowly up his forearm. Oh. _Oh_. Okay.

“Um,” Ryan says again. “Um, okay, I—”

Jeremy pauses. Hesitates. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, are you not— Is this not—”

“No, I’m, it’s, I’m definitely okay with, uh, this, except— You don’t have to do this,” Ryan says in a rush.

Jeremy pauses again, then laughs, dimpling. “I’m not actually doing this to get a free repair job from you, Ryan,” he says. “If we’re going to act out a porn scenario, I can think of, like, ten better ones.”

“ _No_ ,” Ryan says, though, well, _that’s_ a thought that’s going to keep his right hand busy for a few nights. “Jesus, not _that_ , I meant… You don’t have to do this for Gavin.”

Jeremy’s brow furrows. “What?”

“I know he, uh, probably heavily implied you should sleep with me,” Ryan says, and _Christ_ , it’s taking a lot of effort not to physically start squirming with embarrassment. “I dunno exactly what he told you, but if you think you have to hook up with me if you want to keep hooking up with him, that’s… He’s not… You don’t need me to have him. We’re not, um, necessarily a package deal.”

For a long moment, Jeremy doesn’t say anything. Finally, he drops Ryan’s hand. “Gavin is amazing,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

Ryan tries not to feel disappointed. Fails. “Yeah, he is.”

And then Jeremy’s crowding Ryan against the worktable, arms bracketing him in. “So are you.”

Ryan’s brain very cheerfully goes the fuck out to lunch. He blanks, struggling to process (Jeremy wants him. Jeremy wants _him_. Jeremy wants them _both_ ), distracted entirely by the way Jeremy’s pressed against him, by the intention in his gaze, by the way Ryan can smell his aftershave and sweat. “I. You. What.”

Jeremy laughs, a low chuckle in stark contrast to the bright, sharp laughter Ryan’s used to hearing. “I want the package deal,” he says, and Ryan’s breath stutters in his chest as Jeremy sinks to his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4/20 holy shit here's some smut

Jeremy is going to blow him in the garage. That’s the only thing Ryan can think about, past the heat and the panic and the sweat.

Jeremy’s on his knees, looking up at Ryan with bright eyes and a faint smirk, like _look at me_ , like _look at you,_ like _tell me you don’t want this_.

Ryan can’t manage anything other than a sucked in breath and his fingers grabbing back behind him at the lip of the worktable, not brave enough to sink them into Jeremy’s dyed hair.

He thinks, Jeremy is going to blow him in the garage, and he thinks, the knees of Jeremy’s pants are going to be ruined with dust and oil, and he thinks, good.

His jeans are around his ankles faster than he can keep up mentally. “ _Jesus_.”

“Close enough,” Jeremy says cheerfully, and then he’s leaning in and kissing open-mouthed at Ryan’s cock through his underwear, tongue leaving damp spots in its wake.

Ryan jerks, bites his lip so he doesn’t make an embarrassing noise. It’s been a while since he’s been sucked off, since at least...hell, he’s not sure, maybe that time Gavin tried to and they both discovered his gag reflex can’t quite cut it.

So he goes from half hard to straining at the fabric of his underwear so fast it makes Jeremy glance up at him with a pleased grin, and Ryan kind of wants to die or at least defend his own stamina.

He’d make an effort at it, too, if he could summon enough breath or brainpower to string a few sentences together. As it is, he just grips the table harder and squirms a little as—for fuck’s sake, that’s not _fair_ —Jeremy catches the elastic band of his underwear between his teeth and tugs it down to expose his cock.

“Show-off,” Ryan says breathlessly.

“Sure am,” Jeremy replies, reaching to pull his underwear down the rest of the way, then sits back on his heels and seems to just admire Ryan’s cock for a moment, which, yeah, alright, Ryan’s _definitely_ blushing now.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he mutters, face hot.

“I might,” Jeremy says, like a threat, but he’s laughing. “I mean, I always knew you were packing, I just thought Gavin was exaggerating when he described exactly how _much_.”

Ryan finally lets go of the table to run his hands down his face. “Are you telling me you and Gavin discuss the size of my dick.”

Jeremy looks up at him with an expression that he probably thinks is innocent, but makes Ryan shiver all the same. “Among other things.”

“Great,” Ryan chokes out. “Great, that’s great, that’s—normal—”

“Shh,” Jeremy hushes him, and for good measure he leans in again and takes the head of Ryan’s cock into his mouth, which pretty easily makes Ryan’s babbling dissolve into, well, even less articulate babbling.

Jeremy’s hands wander up to grip at Ryan’s thighs as he licks up the length of Ryan’s cock and then tongues at the head, over and over until Ryan’s a squirming mess.

It’s only then that Jeremy reaches up to grab Ryan’s hands, bring them down to that shock of green hair, and coax him to tangle his fingers in it. Ryan’s breath hitches and he tugs at Jeremy’s hair slightly, experimentally.

Jeremy _moans_.

Ryan jerks his hands away like they’re on fire.

Jeremy tips his head up to scowl at him. “What the fuck, put those back,” he says, grouchy and perplexed, and Ryan does with an apologetic little noise, just has to hope Jeremy doesn’t keep making sounds like that or else he’s gonna come in about eight seconds like a teenager at a his first frat party.

Seemingly satisfied, Jeremy takes Ryan’s cock into his mouth again, tongue going flat to open his throat and take in more as he sinks down. Automatically, Ryan tightens his hold on Jeremy’s hair, and Jeremy moans again, muffled, the noise sending vibrations through Ryan’s cock and making him swear.

Gradually, Jeremy establishes a rhythm, more enthusiasm than finesse, but Ryan’s slowly coming undone all the same. He’s glad he’s got the table behind him to lean against, but even with it his knees are threatening to buckle beneath him.

Jeremy swallows around him and Ryan chokes out a moan, pulling at his hair again almost in retaliation. Jeremy responds by digging his fingers into the meat of Ryan’s thighs hard until Ryan whimpers with it, the pain raw and sweet and perfect with Jeremy’s hot mouth around him.

Ryan tips his head back to pant up towards the ceiling, eyes screwed shut as he struggles not to lose it so soon. Jeremy’s still working at him relentlessly, the garage filled with obscene noises, and Ryan—fuck, next time he walks into the garage and every time after, probably, he’s going to be thinking about this. He imagines himself leaned up against a car he’s repairing, fucking his own tight fist, getting himself off to thoughts of this.

He makes the mistake of looking back down.

Jeremy’s got his legs spread slightly, one hand still grabbing at Ryan’s thigh and the other stuffed between his own. It looks like he’s rocking against the heel of his hand, rhythm matching that of his bobbing head, and the sight makes Ryan go dizzy and weak at the knees.

He pulls Jeremy off his cock by the hair, shivers at the _pop_ as he slides free from Jeremy’s mouth.

Jeremy gasps for breath, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes in confusion. “What?” he says, and, god, his voice is _wrecked_.

“Gonna come,” Ryan manages, reaching to take himself in hand.

Jeremy smacks his hand away hard enough to sting. “Yeah, no shit,” he says, looking exasperated. “I didn’t do all that work so that you’d have to make _yourself_ come.”

Ryan blinks at him. “Oh,” he says. “You want to—”

“Now that you’ve totally ruined the mood, yeah.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says sheepishly.

“Honestly, Ryan, I’m disappointed in you,” comes a new voice, and Ryan about jumps out of his skin.

“Gavin, _Jesus_ , how long have you been there?!”

“Long enough,” Gavin says casually. Ryan doesn’t know how he missed him, sprawled out in a metal fold-out chair on the other side of the garage; it’s not like he’s hidden, but he probably slunk in sometime after Jeremy had Ryan’s cock in his mouth, and to be fair, Ryan had been pretty goddamn distracted at that point.

He’s got his legs spread obscenely, fly open, cock hard in his hand and he’s watching them with dark eyes. Jeremy glances over his shoulder and waves at him cheerfully. Gavin waves back lazily, smirking, every bit the cat with the cream.

Ryan’s blush has spread clear down to his shoulders at this point. “Well, Christ, you’re fucking welcome for the show.”

“Show’s not over yet,” Gavin points out. He spends a moment tucking himself back into his pants and then gets up, meanders across the garage towards them like he’s got all the time in the world.

Jeremy looks so entirely unbothered that it makes Ryan’s eyes narrow.

“Did you guys plan this?” he demands, trying to sound indignant. Mostly fails.

“Yes,” Gavin and Jeremy say in unison.

“And, what, you couldn’t have clued me in?”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Jeremy says.

“We knew you’d be an awkward mess about it and it’d take seven decades to get your bloody pants off,” Gavin corrects.

“Hey!”

“Well. _More_ of an awkward mess,” he amends.

“Oh, shut up.” Ryan can’t exactly defend himself, though, not when it’d taken Jeremy literally getting on his knees to make Ryan realize he wanted him.

Gavin closes the distance between them and reaches out to put his index and middle fingers over the bite-swollen plush of Ryan’s mouth.

“Hush, love. Jeremy’s got a job to finish,” he says, somehow managing to sound sweet and threatening at the same time.

Ryan swallows. Nods. Manages _not_ to take Gavin’s fingers into his mouth and suck on them.

He doesn’t expect Gavin to kneel down behind Jeremy and press himself flush against Jeremy’s back. He watches, slack-jawed, as Gavin tips his head to kiss at the side of Jeremy’s neck, starting with little pecks and moving to biting kisses, leaves red marks in his wake while Jeremy shuts his eyes and hums contently.

At some point, still sucking hickeys into Jeremy’s neck, Gavin reaches around to start palming at him through his jeans. Jeremy whimpers deep in his throat, rocking forward into Gavin’s hands and back against him, and Gavin chuckles with a bright flash of teeth as he works Jeremy’s fly open.

Ryan twitches with the desire to touch.

Gavin finally seems to regard him. “Need something, Ry?” he asks, expression open and innocent and _goddammit_.

Ryan groans and and wraps his fingers around his cock, too impatient for Gavin’s games.

He only gets a few strokes in before Gavin lets out a _tsk_ through his teeth at the same moment Jeremy reaches up and pulls his hand away, and Ryan lets his head fall back and _whines_ , desperate, so hard he’s dizzy with it.

“Go ahead, then,” he hears Gavin say somewhere behind the ringing in his ears, and then Jeremy’s mouth envelopes his cock again.

He jolts, hips jerking, and the faint choking noise Jeremy lets out in response shouldn’t be so hot. He looks back down to see Gavin with one hand down Jeremy’s pants and the other knotted in Jeremy’s hair, pushing and pulling Jeremy’s head in a slow rhythm, effectively bobbing it for him, fucking Jeremy’s throat with Ryan’s cock.

Ryan’s breath catches and stutters in his lungs, a broken moan punching out of him.

He doesn’t stand a chance, really.

Jeremy takes it beautifully, eyes falling shut shut as Gavin guides him, swallowing around Ryan every time he bottoms out. Ryan trembles, grabbing at the table again so hard he’s surprised the wood doesn’t splinter.

He barely manages a shaky, breathless warning before he’s curling in on himself slightly and coming, grateful for Jeremy’s hands pinning his hips to the table and keeping him from slumping bonelessly to the floor. He feels Jeremy’s throat fluttering around him as he swallows, opens his eyes to see Gavin carding his fingers through Jeremy’s disheveled hair soothingly. Jeremy pulls back to lick Ryan clean, thorough, takes his sweet time until Ryan’s flinching back and squirming with oversensitivity, and it’s only then that he backs off, looking unfairly pleased with himself as he pulls Ryan’s underwear and jeans back up and tucks him away.

Ryan spends a few moments just gasping for breath, weak with release, and then he finally does slide to the floor. He takes Jeremy’s face in his hands and kisses him stupid the way he’s been wanting to for, god, too long, but it’s worth it for the way Jeremy just _melts_ against him, making little desperate, muffled noises because Gavin’s still got a hand working at him in his jeans.

Ryan pulls away to watch, and Jeremy lets his head fall back against Gavin’s shoulder, mouth open slightly as his hips roll lazily. Gavin shifts, murmurs something Ryan doesn’t catch into Jeremy’s ear, and Jeremy lights up a little, straightening up and then getting to his feet with a surprising amount of grace considering how long he’d been on his knees.

He takes Gavin by the hands and hauls him to his feet, then picks him up like he weighs nothing, hands gripping the backs of his thighs to support him. Gavin laughs delightedly and throws his arms around Jeremy’s neck. Ryan wants to burn the image into his mind forever.

He watches as Jeremy walks them over to his car, then winces when he drops Gavin unceremoniously onto the hood.

“I’m trying to _repair_ that,” he says in faint annoyance, getting to his feet and only stumbling slightly. Gavin just grins at him, pulling something from the pocket of his pants before shimmying out of them.

Ryan crosses the garage to stand behind Jeremy and raises an eyebrow at the packet of lube Gavin’s ripping open with his teeth.

“You never know when you’re going to get lucky,” Gavin explains.

“You _knew_ you were going to be doing this.”

“He prepped himself before he even got here,” Jeremy puts in, and Ryan glances down to see Gavin’s inner thighs already shiny with lube. His face goes hot.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says appreciatively.

Gavin grins. “Again, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared—”

“Ryan,” Jeremy says suddenly, taking the lube from Gavin’s hand.

“Yeah?”

“Shut him up, please.”

Ryan’s all too happy to comply, walking around and leaning over the hood of the car to cut off Gavin’s indignant protest with a hard kiss. Gavin grabs him by the neckline of his now _thoroughly_ sweaty tank top and pulls him in closer, and for a moment Ryan loses himself in that, in Gavin’s demanding tongue and nipping teeth.

Then Gavin breaks away with a breathless little moan. Ryan pulls back in surprise to look over at Jeremy, and his cock makes a valiant attempt at getting hard again.

Jeremy’s got two thick fingers stuffed into Gavin, and if the increasingly louder noises coming from him is any indication, Jeremy’s working relentlessly at his prostate. Gavin’s writhing on the hood, fingers slipping over the smooth metal for purchase, head turned to pant through Jeremy’s rough fingerfucking and making little clouds of condensation appear on the paint job.

Ryan watches, transfixed, and then he moves almost on autopilot to stand behind Jeremy, wrapping his arms around him.

Jeremy leans back against him comfortably, like he’s not working Gavin open in front of them, and Ryan hooks his chin over Jeremy’s shoulder so he can see as he pulls Jeremy’s cock free from his jeans.

Jeremy bites his lip, swallowing, as Ryan strokes him back to hardness, his fingers in Gavin stuttering in their rhythm if Gavin’s impatient noise is anything to go by. Ryan laughs lowly, turning his head to start adding some of his own hickeys to the collection Gavin left on Jeremy’s neck.

“For god’s sake, get on with it,” Gavin complains breathlessly, rocking down against Jeremy’s fingers. “I didn’t spend all that time with my fingers up my arse just so you two can faff about for ten hours.”

“Faff about,” Jeremy echoes. He thrusts his fingers into Gavin hard, and both he and Ryan grin at the strangled noise Gavin lets out. “This doesn’t look much like _faffing about_ to me, I dunno. What do you think, Ryan?”

“I think if you tease him much longer, he’ll make your life hell for a month,” Ryan admits, nuzzling into the crook of Jeremy’s neck.

“Three months,” Gavin says, propping himself up on his elbows and scowling.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Jeremy says, rolling his eyes. He removes his fingers and grabs Gavin by the legs. Gavin yelps as Jeremy gives him a tug, sliding him down the hood until his ass is nearly hanging off of it.

“Gentle!”

“If you wanted gentle, you wouldn’t have asked me to fuck you,” Jeremy says.

Gavin shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Ryan watches, biting his lip, as Jeremy slowly guides himself into Gavin with a low, quiet noise. Gavin squirms, head falling back against the hood as his hands grasp at empty air. Ryan moves back around to kiss him again, lets Gavin clutch at him as he gets used to the stretch.

Gavin makes the _prettiest_ noise when Jeremy starts to fuck him. He starts with shallow little rocks of his hips, hands gripping Gavin’s legs to keep him from sliding up the hood. Ryan swallows all the sounds Gavin makes and reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock, stroking Gavin in time with Jeremy’s thrusts as best he can.

It does a number on Gavin, if the way he suddenly arches and tears his mouth from Ryan’s to keen loudly is anything to go by.

“ _Shit_ ,” he gasps out. Ryan is inclined to agree.

When Jeremy starts fucking into Gavin rougher, quicker, it shakes the car beneath them. At a particularly deep thrust, they both moan shakily, and Ryan’s cock jumps. He keeps jacking Gavin off, and the angle’s awkward, but he manages to pull Jeremy in and kiss him, reveling in the way Jeremy gasps openly into his mouth.

Gavin falls apart first, coming messily over Ryan’s hand and onto his shirt as he cries out into the still, hot air of the garage. Jeremy swears, his rhythm lost completely as he pounds into Gavin hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm. It’s not long before Gavin’s writhing again, this time with raw sensitivity.

“Shit, shit, shit, _Jeremy_ ,” he breathes, groaning.

Not pausing in his thrusts, Jeremy takes his hands from Gavin’s legs and grabs the collar of Gavin’s stupidly expensive shirt instead, hauls him up to kiss him as he comes, the both of them shaking through it until Jeremy collapses on top of him.

It’s silent for a long moment save the sounds of Gavin and Jeremy catching their breaths. Ryan snags a questionably clean rag and wipes his hand with it, then peers at the car.

“You dented the hood,” he says disapprovingly.

Jeremy flips him off.

“Sod off,” Gavin mumbles, and prods at Jeremy until he gets off, pulling out of Gavin.

He whistles, appraising him. “Fuck, Ryan, look at that, just _leaking—_ ”

“Alright, thank you, that’s enough of that,” Gavin says a little shrilly, snapping his legs closed.

Ryan chuckles. Gavin sits up, wincing, and holds out a hand imperiously. Ryan steps forward dutifully and helps him off the hood, then rubs the back of his neck. “So. That happened.”

“Is that all you can say?” Gavin demands, raising an eyebrow at him as he tugs his underwear and pants back on. He pulls a face, squirming. “Christ, I need a shower.”

“No, well, fuck, I mean, it was great,” Ryan says hastily. “Just—still kind of reeling.”

“Me too,” Jeremy says, tucking himself away. “But, just saying, I’m gonna get off on this for, uh, probably the rest of my life, actually.”

“Or,” Gavin says, looking exasperated, like _how did I get stuck with you two, do I really have to do all the work,_ “we could just _keep_ doing this, and then you can have the real thing instead of just getting off to your damn memories.”

Jeremy grins. “Well, if you insist.”

Gavin grabs the dirty cloth from Ryan’s hands and throws it at Jeremy’s face, smirking as Jeremy flails gracelessly, and then looks at Ryan expectantly up until Jeremy tries to get him in a headlock.

Ryan doesn’t have to think very hard about his answer. The sex had been nothing short of phenomenal, and even if it’d just been average, something feels... _right_ about this, the three of them post-coital, Jeremy and Gavin roughhousing while he watches and laughs. He can imagine them doing this again, yeah.

And he can imagine them tumbling into an actual bed together, and going to late-night races and fucking out the post-race adrenaline and grabbing breakfast after. Fighting over the check. Working on their rides in the garage and piling onto someone’s couch to play shitty video games and just kind of...existing in the same space.

Maybe he’s thinking too far ahead, but—

“Yeah,” Ryan says, smiling fondly despite himself. “We could definitely keep doing this.”


End file.
